


never lonely alone

by Mariallegra



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, canonical significant others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariallegra/pseuds/Mariallegra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes David wishes he didn't need to keep his cards so close to his chest, but he's not sure he's ever had much of a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never lonely alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookhousegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhousegirl/gifts).



> For bookhousegirl's rarepair exchange prompt: "clueless Lucic who doesn't realize how much Krejci quietly loves him until he does or for a more specific slightly AU prompt: Krejci did not invite any teammates to his wedding in the czech repiblic after the 2014 playoff loss. Lucic misunderstands and comes to the Czech Republic to escape his playoff demons and to attend a wedding he's specifically not invited to." Hope you enjoy! :) Any comments/concrit you might have would be lovely.

When he’s sinking down onto Milan’s couch, strategically placing himself right in front of the spinach artichoke dip, David finally lets the smile take over his face. It hadn’t been easy to keep his head down and not grin like a dipshit for most of optional skate, but he doesn’t think anyone but Milan and Jarome picked up on it. (Jarome, apparently, has never seen him look so cheerful while he’s “whining about his bum hip, seriously, Krej, you need more cortisone in that thing”.) He does not _whine_ , Jarome, not  everyone has the sort of freakish natural cheerfulness that apparently stops you from feeling anything in your joints. Maybe it’s a Western Canadian thing.

He’s got the A now, and there are drills to run and rookies to keep on track so _something_ gets accomplished on optional days, and it just didn’t seem professional to let everybody know at practice when they were just coming off the long weekend break as it was. The guys would have loved it, of course. Marchy and the rookies would jump at the chance to stop practicing early and have a delightful time trying to make bachelor party plans. They’d probably have drafted a list of which strip clubs to drag David to before practice was out, which might show a certain initiative, but it’s not really the sort of “accomplishment” Claude expects the alternates to encourage during optional skates.

Milan walks through the door in with a bowl of chips in one arm and Valentina in the other, flanked by several teammates who are after the chips. “Stayed with Nate and Tammy,” Milan is telling Torey.“He’s doing pretty good. We took the kids to Disney World and he hung in fine. Think the injections are really starting to help him out.” Milan’s smile reaches up to crinkle his eyes, but David’s heart can’t help but sink at how taking his kids to Disney World for a few hours is a big step for Nathan right now.

“No!” Milan exclaims, stopping Valentina from pulling the brim of Marchy’s hat over his eyes. “We don’t grab other people’s things without asking.” He tries to keep a straight face, which doesn’t stop her from giggling.

Torey looks indignant on Valentina’s behalf. “She’s _one_! It’s _Marchy!_ Leave her alone.” David fully expects Torey to have about fifteen small children in the next decade.

His hip feels surprisingly limber right now – the trainers have been great as always, and the few days of not having to get on a plane seems to have done some good. It’s too bad things didn’t work out with going down to Florida with Milan, but they’ll be in Tampa in a few weeks – he should be able to find time to go see Nathan then. Maybe bring Milan and Soupy with him. It’ll be fun.

Milan’s sitting down next to him, having passed Valentina off to Torey. (Brittany, in the doorway talking to Seids and his wife, is keeping a discreet eye on them. They’re about the same size, David thinks, so probably shouldn’t get in too much trouble.)

“Good break, eh?” Milan grins knowingly. “Trainers gave you the green light for Viagra?” He looks back at Valentina and belatedly tries to reach over and cover her ears.

David got laid _plenty_ this weekend, thank you very much, but Milan is a hypocrite and will act horrified if David even starts to talk about it in front of his child.He’s been holding his tongue all day anyway, and he decides he might as well just blurt it out now. “I asked Naomi. She’s going to marry me.”

“Oh my God! Krech is getting married!” Torey yells, and David is soon swamped by Soupy and Piesy rushing over to slap him on the back, Brittany kissing him on the cheek, and Marchy shouting something about strip clubs. When Milan engulfs him in a hug, David feels the familiar lump come up in his throat, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to by now. It isn’t so hard to hug back and let it slip to the back of his mind.

***

“Your English is _fine_ , don’t worry,” Milan insists, loudly enough for Savvy to glare and pretend to cover his ears.  “You’re twice as easy to understand as my dad is. Half of the beat reporters are in _love_ with you. I swear.”

David has spent enough time in Gatineau and Providence to know what you can’t get away with in North American locker rooms, so he only smiles back at Milan for a moment. “Doesn’t your dad barely speak English?” Savvy grumbles. “I’d lean on the good looks if I were you, Krej.”

David laughs. He’s worked hard on his English, but there’s nothing like being trapped against a wall with people shouting over each other and shoving microphones in your face to make you forget half the words you know. He’s not sure whether he or Phil hates it more. “Savvy’s jealous,” he tells Milan conspiratorially. “Reporters not paying attention to him these days. Sound like he know why.” Savvy tries to snap him in the leg with the piece of tensor bandage in his hand and misses, then tosses it at Milan’s head for laughing about it.

“I drive you home, no problem,” David tells Milan with what he’s shamefully sure is a giggle. Milan beams. “Thanks, Krech. Savvy says he’ll ‘fucking end me’ if he finds out I drove without my contacts.”

“You can’t fucking drive when you _can_ see,” Savvy grumbles. Savvy is 175 centimetres tall at the most – no sane person is going to believe whatever lie he told NHL.com – which makes the image of him raining wrath upon Milan’s head pretty funny. Not at all implausible, though.

David feels a little guilty every time he watches Milan a bit longer than he should. Maybe he could convince himself it’s innocent, aesthetic, he just appreciates his friends and isn’t afraid to think that another guy is nice to look at. Except that the broadness of Milan’s shoulders and the pink softness of his lips keep coming into his head when he’s getting off, images building of Milan on his knees in front of him. David’s not bad at compartmentalizing things inside his head, but he can’t always push it to the back of his mind.

***

“You don’t have to drive,” Milan grins, reaching for the driver’s side door. “Shut up,” David scoffs. “You can’t drive. Sit down.” Milan laughs and climbs into the passenger seat, and David gets ready to head to Ristuccia.

Milan is quiet – for Milan - as they pull out of the driveway, thumbing through pictures on his phone and humming an off-key rap song to himself. David can’t help but smile at him, feeling the giant lump of Wedding Anxiety in his chest soften a bit.

David couldn’t wait to actually be married to Naomi – not least because then the wedding would be _over._ Now the adrenaline rush of getting engaged was slipping away, and actually _planning_ the thing was a sprawling logistical nightmare. David was starting to lose sleep over it, and it wasn’t even him who had to give a shit about dresses.

After the second night in a row when he got up pacing and worrying about how clear his head would be at practice in the morning, Naomi told him it could be her job to worry about the guest list and he needed to go to bed, dammit. David’s heart had leapt at the chance to abdicate responsibility.

Feeling that way might not be like him, but the thought of actually making all this final is heavy and overwhelming enough to make him want to let as much as he can go. There were enough loved ones showing up from enough continents that he shouldn’t have felt able to let any detail pass him by. Did he feel kind of bad? Of course. Bad enough to spend hours sitting down with Zdenka the wedding planner poring over seating charts? Not really.

Also, he doesn’t know shit about place settings.

His appetite for charts is more than burnt out as it is, with all the time he’s spending with Looch and Iggy in front of the whiteboard and in the video room. It’s driving him a bit mental – even though it’s usually him that’s suggesting it. Iggy is an absolute legend, but David and Milan had practically learned to read Nathan’s mind the years they played together and everything just needs a bit more planning to work now. And it was a lot easier to take on an armful of new responsibilities and commitments in the giddiness of being named alternate captain than it was to keep them up week after week. Especially with a wedding to worry about.

On the bright side, at least these days he doesn’t have to worry about whether he has to invite Tim. His great-aunts would just _love_ a drunken American goalie demanding to know why they put up with the Czech Republic’s “commie bullshit” gun laws.

Milan taps him on the shoulder once they’re stopped at the light. “Your wedding’s going to be fucking great, Krech.” David sighs and wishes his facial expressions were a little less transparent. “Can’t wait,” Milan smiles. “We were going to Serbia to see Jovan at the beginning of August anyway, so it’ll be a great trip. Brittany’s already putting pictures of Czech castles and shit on her Pinterest.”

David smiles, nods, and looks ahead to Ristuccia. “Yeah. Can’t wait.”

***

He hates that Zee insisted the team shouldn’t leave him alone right now, and he hates that he was probably right. He can’t use his right hand, for one thing.  Milan brought him pad thai and ice cream, and didn’t laugh too hard when he dropped half of it down his front, but it’s hard to do much for himself when he just got his wrist surgically put back together.

He hopes Mike Richards’s girlfriend dumps him and goes and bangs half the Penguins.

Part of his brain still thinks this is a nightmare, which is probably the only reason he hasn’t cried himself into dehydration. And he needs to keep a few scraps of dignity in front of Milan, who scored two goals in the futile last game of the reverse sweep, and still very generously has not smashed a single one of David’s things.

They’re hanging out on the big sofa bed in front of the TV, Milan flipping between ESPN-related channels and heckling their programming choices. David is propped up against the cushions, cradling his surgically repaired wrist to his chest. The shame and regret feels like it might swallow him up, and he wants it to. He should know getting hurt isn’t his fault. He should. His good hand comes up to rub at his eyes and stays there. Milan is turning towards him, trying to meet his eyes, but he doesn’t feel like he can let that happen.

“Shit, Krej,” Milan tells him softly, “I’m so fucking sorry this happened. C’mere.” Milan wraps a strong arm around him and gathers him up, careful of his arm. David’s eyes don’t stop burning, but he can’t make himself pull away, and he lets himself settle against Milan’s chest.

Milan is reassuringly warm and solid beside him, and – Jesus Christ, David’s body’s sense of timing is just fucking perfect.

Not surprising, considering he hasn’t gotten off in five days between the surgery and a fucked up dominant hand. But no less mortifying. And not mortifying enough for his hard-on to go away.

Milan doesn’t leap away in horror, just laughs. David covers his eyes and squirms away. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”

Milan doesn’t say anything, but the sounds of the television change abruptly. Jesus Christ, it’s a porn channel, Milan is an _asshole_ , David has had too long a week to be a good sport and laugh about it.

Milan looks disturbingly sincere when David opens in his eyes. “Been a while, eh? I could help you out, if you wanted.” He reaches forward, hesitantly, like he’s half ready to play it off as a joke, and nods towards the porn on the screen – a couple of blonde women in a hot tub with big tits and long fingernails. David tries to shrug casually. “Been a long week. Wrist too fucked up.” Milan, thank God, takes that as a yes, reaches under David’s fly.

Then Milan’s big callused hand is wrapping gently around his shaft, and David doesn’t want to look away, but he forces his eyes back up toward the screen. One woman is fingering the other, both moaning theatrically, David trying to keep quiet as Milan strokes him and he fights to keep his mind on the feeling and the screen, because Milan is doing him a favour and he needs to be decent about it.

***

It’s the perfect time to forget how to play hockey. Stumble into the President’s Trophy, end up in the playoffs lined up against Datsyuk and Zetterberg, burn through your entire hard-earned reputation as a clutch playoff performer. All in a week’s work for David Krejci.

He doesn’t even have an injury to blame it on – it’s just one of those weeks were nothing clicks in your head and no bounces are going your way – but it’s coming at the worst time possible. Looch and Iggy are pushing like hell beside him, but that doesn’t mean points are magically going to come. You usually need a centre for that, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t count right now. But he has to keep smiling in the middle of the noise of the locker room, keep telling the kids to keep their heads up. Stopping to think means drowning in your fucking shame. So he doesn’t stop.

Smitty is loudly describing his brother as a “sneaky cross-checking _asshole_ , just like _always,”_ while a half-listening Torey tries to wave a trainer over to take a look at his ankle. “Kids these days,” Kells snorts. “Don’t know how to take their percs and be quiet.” David makes a half-amused sort of disapproving face at him, like the nurturing good-cop of an alternate captain he has to try to be now that Ferry isn’t here.

(Thank God Ferry isn’t here, or David would have been spirited away to a meditation circle by now and had some sort of kale-based tea forced down his throat. He loves Ferry, he misses Ferry, but sometimes you need to be able to run away from your problems like a normal person.)

 “Don’t think I’m allowed in the house tonight,” Milan half shouts at him as he makes his way over to his stall, manic energy undamped even after the game’s over. At least he didn’t spear anybody else today. David would not be able to handle any more questions from Joe Haggerty about how much importance the Bruins place on the integrity of their opponent’s nuts without losing his shit.

“What did Brittany find on your phone now?” he asks Milan half-seriously.

“Found out I got fined, got pissed off, broke a few dishes.” He hasn’t stopped shouting, and Torey and Seids are turning to look. “Oh, come on,” David snaps.

“She lost her shit,” Milan continues like he didn’t hear him. “So I told her to shut up because she didn’t pay for the dishes anyway. I guess I’m the asshole now.”

 “Sounds like it, yeah,” David says, and edges back towards where Zee is standing.  He’s not sure what he’s going to ask Zee about, but he’ll think of something, and he knows what kind of conversations he doesn’t want to be dealing with today.

***

Horty is the least judgmental person in the world, which only makes David more self-conscious about his English. How do you know if you’re making any sense when someone would be beaming and slapping you on the back and telling you you’re the best centre ever no matter what the hell you say?

(Milan says David is too hard on himself. And also that he’s paranoid about what everyone else thinks and needs to cut it out. This does not seem like consistent advice to David. David tells Milan that maybe he shouldn’t respond to getting hit up high by punching people in the back of the head, even if Freddy Meyer _is_ a shitass, because game misconducts don’t help anything. Milan says that sounds like wonderful advice, but he’s still glad he did it, and they won anyway, which is the important part.)

David is very happy with his line this season.

***

He can tell, from a distance away from his own head, that he’s not feeling the sadness yet. Even the shame hasn’t got here, just the chilly, nauseous fuzz making his knees weak.

Someone is shaking his shoulder. Jarome. It takes a moment to shake the fog off and meet his eyes. “Looch went off on Emelin and Weise.” “In the line. I’m not sure if they’re going to make a thing out of it, but I thought you needed to know.” He nods at Jarome, like it all made sense. It doesn’t. He has no idea why he’s supposed to care about anything Jarome just said.

Milan is slumped forward in his stall, breaths coming hard and ragged. David takes a tentative step closer and his eyes don’t move. He walks a bit closer and Milan shakes his head, waves David away. “Not now, Krej,” he snaps. “Don’t want to hear it.” David is fucking sick of digging Milan out of beds he made for himself, and fuck it, he’s not going to push now. He goes back to his stall and sits back down.

***

The whole world tastes like champagne bubbles right now. Since he had the Cup in his hands, David can hardly remember anything _but_ champagne bubbles. Everyone is offering him drinks and he is taking them all because he deserves them. They all do.

Milan is beside him, laughing, hair damp with sweat and the alcohol flying in the hair. David wants to reach out and stroke the skin of his neck. His feet are a little unsteady when he tries to, and Milan catches him by the arm, laughing. “Top scorer in the playoffs! You’re amazing!”

“You are,” David insists. He spots Nathan next to them, looking wonderfully whole and healthy despite that fuckhead Rome’s best efforts. “And Horty is.” He _is_ , and Horty is allowed to laugh at David slurring his words right now because he’s fucking awesome.

Milan rests his hands on David’s shoulders. “Look at you, Krech. Fucking beautiful.” David laughs, lets himself lean in farther. He deserves it.

Milan’s rough, warm hand rests on the back of his neck, holding him in place and then pulling him in closer. Then Milan is kissing him, hard and warm and tasting of champagne. He feels his face flush pink as he realizes what’s happening all head rush and embarrassment and  bubbles. Horty throws his head back and laughs, then starts clapping, Ferry and Thorty joining in.

A moment later Milan is moving away and there’s more champagne in David’s hand and he isn’t sure whether it was a dream or not. He drinks. They deserve it.

***

He can’t believe fucking _wedding_ planning is stressing him out this much, but looking over the draft of their guest list is practically making him sick. He pushes the green smoothie he’s trying to choke down aside and wipes a clammy hand on his jeans. He’s pretty sure this is one of those times when it’s a bad idea to try dig deep enough to make his head make sense, but he doesn’t expect Naomi to pretend not to notice.

Naomi, standing behind his chair, kisses him on the temple. “It’s supposed to be a nice day. We could just have our parents there if we want. And Diggles, of course.” Diggles is wagging his tail enthusiastically at her feet, pleased not to be left out.

How many rookies want to waste their summer break flying to another continent to humour a “clutch playoff performer” who probably cost them the series by not doing shit? “It has to be everybody or nobody,” he manages. “I’m not sure they’d all want to come.”

“You know everybody knows you did your best, right?” She rests her hands on his shoulders, brushes the tips of her fingers along the nape of his neck.

He’s not sure they do, and he doesn’t expect them to care, not when they went out the way they did and he was no fucking help.

“I want it to be a good day,” he manages. “I don’t think I’m ready to be thinking about it on a good day.”

Naomi sighs and nods. “They’ll get it. Talk to Zee or Patrice, I’m sure they’d be okay with letting people know.” The weight comes off his chest, and he turns to kiss her.  “Yeah,” he nods. “You’re right. You’re right.”

***

Milan barely looks up when a giggling Marchy uses poor Bergy’s stick to flip a roll of tape a few inches from his head.  “Claude just told me I’m getting healthy scratched tomorrow, Marchy, can you not fuck off for one day?” Marchy’s face falls momentarily when he doesn’t get the reaction he wanted, but he’s quickly spotting Segs a few stalls down and scurrying over to try and steal his snapback.

Milan is looking glassily into the middle distance when David sits down next to him. David’s gotten to know that look pretty well, but that doesn’t mean he’s figured out what to do about it.

“You got a ride home?” Milan shakes his head. “Don’t need one. I’ll be fine.”

David puts an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t want you driving right now. I’ll take you home.”

“I drove here, Krech.” He sighs and rests his forehead in his hands for a moment. “Please don’t try and babysit me. I can’t deal with that today.” He sighs, heaves himself to his feet, picks up his bag. “I’m going to learn from this and use it to make myself better. Like I just got to tell fifty goddamn beat reporters. Piesy is a good player. You can deal with him on your wing for a little while. Just make sure Horty does all the shooting.”

***

Ever since Naomi said yes, there’s been a little niggling fear at the back of David’s mind that their wedding day would come up and he’d feel like they were making a mistake. But as he watches the guests start milling in, David can’t think of anything but how beautiful Naomi must look in her dress right now and how much he can’t wait to marry her.

But then one of the guests standing near the front doors is Milan, looking back at David with confused darting eyes. Brittany is right next to him, with Valentina on her hip, in a green dress with sequins around the hem. It looks expensive, and new. She’s scanning the crowd back and forth, her mouth setting into a firm hard line.

Okay, it’s fine, someone fucked up, it’s not a big deal. He hurries over planning to hug them, trying to ignore how his breath feels knocked out of his chest.

Brittany steps forward before he can get to Milan. “David. Where’s everyone else?” He opens his mouth but can only manage a sheepish sort of grin. She looks discomfited, at best. “I don’t see anybody else from the team here. At all.”

In retrospect, there were a lot of semi-convincing stories David could have told. The wedding was short on space, but he really thought they needed to get away and have fun after how the season ended. He knew they’d be in Europe to see Milan’s brother and decided to squeeze them in. They were just that extra special to him. But maybe David couldn’t switch gears fast enough from being thrilled about his wedding, or maybe he’d bitten his tongue so many times that he couldn’t manage it when he needed to.

“There was a mistake,” he finds himself saying. “I felt like we had to invite everybody or nobody, and I thought we let everyone from the team know… but I think there was a mistake.” Brittany looks aghast, and Milan doesn’t move. “But we have room!” David blurts out. “It’s fine. Go sit down. Thank you so much for being here.”

Milan shakes his head, and for a moment David thinks he’s going to start yelling at him. He doesn’t. He turns away to smile at a confused-looking Valentina and adjust the little pink bow in her hair, then turns back to David, smile not moving. “I get it, David. Thanks for letting me bring my wife and my daughter to the Czech Republic for no reason. I think we should go now.”

They’re walking away before David knows it, and it all happened so fast that when David’s cousin walks up and thrusts a glass of plum brandy into his hand, he can smile sincerely and pretend none of it happened for today.

***

Milan is charging down the ice, always so much faster than he looks once he gets going. David skates hard past the blue line, Letang chasing him and missing Horty. It’s too late once he realizes he’s guessed wrong. Horty’s pass kisses David’s tape just right, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to flick the puck over Fleury’s right shoulder.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, Krech!” Horty is yelling in his face, snatching him up into a bear hug, Zee and Seids rushing over to join in.  He has the best linemates in the world. Maybe they were lucky as hell to scrape past Toronto, but they’re sure as hell making the most of it now. David’s cheek is pressed into Milan’s neck, and it’s a good thing his willpower has gotten so much practice, because it feels like leaning up and kissing him would be the easiest thing in the world.

***

Naomi is still asleep next to him, mostly covered in the cloudy softness of the bedsheets. David can just see the perfect bare skin of her neck and her shoulder blades and the soft dark wreath of her hair, and he’s not sure he’ll ever stop smiling now that he’s finally married to this woman.

He’s just started savouring the warm rays of sunlight coming through the window and the memories of their night before when his phone chimes from the bedside table. He picks it up thoughtlessly, smiling, and almost throws it down when he sees there’s a text there from Milan.

Fuck. _Fuck._ He swallows past the sick cold lump in his throat. It’s always hard to know what’ll feel worse, putting off looking as long as you can or just biting your lip and doing it.

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes the second option, opens the message and braces himself.

_All you had to do was fucking say something_

_I don’t understand why you wanted to rub my face in it_

_If I did anything you didn’t want I didn’t know, I always tried not to make things weird_

_I didn’t expect anything more to happen, but I thought we were ok_

It takes a few moments to make any sense to David, but when it comes together in his head, his heart feels lighter all of a sudden. Now it can all be about sparing somebody else’s feelings. He knows how to do that.

It only takes a minute to send a text back. _I fucked up. Will send apology email to Brittany. It really was a mistake. We are OK._ Then he sets his phone down and decides to go back to sleep. Their honeymoon deserves a fresh start.

***

He’d woken up from his post-practice nap and his hip hadn’t hurt at all. That was always worth celebrating, so he and Naomi had gone on a quick little jaunt down the block for their favourite cannoli. He never knows how long a Good Hip Day is going to last, so it seemed like the perfect time for some doggy style while he was feeling up to it. After he’d come he’d eaten her out for a while, Naomi still on her hands and knees, giggling while he did his best to lick her clean with the occasional pause to grab at handfuls of her ass.

They settle down in front of the TV with smoothies afterwards to watch home renovation shows, Diggles curled up asleep at David’s feet. His little legs are twitching, like he’s dreaming about a particularly spirited squirrel-based chase scene. David’s secure enough in himself to admit it’s really fucking cute.

He’s feeling pretty great about life right about now, and it takes a few minutes for the tingle of worry to appear when Naomi goes uncharacteristically quiet for a while.

When a commercial for Cake Boss comes on and she doesn’t even bother making fun of it, he knows something’s up. “Naomi? You okay?”

She sits up straighter, pauses for a moment. “… Yeah. Just thinking.” He leans close to kiss her on the side of the head. “Anything I can help with?”

Naomi sighs, clears her throat, rests her hand on his thigh.   “I just… David. I know it’s… tough on the road sometimes. Things happen. I’m not naïve about that.” He’s too taken off guard to know what to say; she doesn’t seem perturbed, reaches over to squeeze his hand. “Do what you need to. I don’t really want to know, but I don’t care. As long as you’re safe about it.” She grins determinedly. “But if you bring home the clap, I’m leaving you.”

“Of course,” he exclaims, feeling a surge of relief he doesn’t quite understand and laughing despite himself. “That makes sense. And I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

She nods, smiles just as firmly. “I know. I do. Just… please don’t bring anything home, okay? I don’t just mean the clap. I love you. So much. It’s… about being embarrassed.” He nods like he’s more sure of what she means than he is, icy cold feeling rising up in his throat again.

“David,” she says, “if I can’t not know, it isn’t fair.”

He swallows and kisses her on the neck, nods and tries to breathe, feels surprised when his voice works. “You’re right. I can do that.”


End file.
